*Click on the 2004 Festival Photos. We're in numbers 10, 41 and 47. As they progress...you can tell we made sure to get our money's worth. And T has assured me that I do not, in fact, walk around hunched over in real life (#10).

It's kind of ironic that I was really into working this weekend when I came in (in order to get overtime) and now that I'm here on Monday, when I'm supposed to be working, I could care less about working. First thing this morning I sat down and completed something I really needed to finish. But since then....I've been reading blogs and chatting, waiting for my weekend to start. Is it Saturday yet?

I do not recommend working both days on a weekend. I'm exhausted. As much as I like being in here when it's quiet and I can concentrate, nothing disguises the fact that it's still a Saturday and I am not out having fun...I am at work. And in order to tell myself I still had somewhat of a weekend, I went out both nights in order to convince myself the days were not wasted. But as a result, I could barely drag myself out of bed this morning.

Friday night T and I went out to a bar that at one point in time, we had claimed would become "our bar." We hadn't been back there since then, and that was over a year ago. It was still just as fun, in fact, more so than the last time. We met up with a friend of hers that we didn't even know would be there, and we ended up dancing to funk that was being played from vinyl. What a great night. We had to force ourselves to leave, the great music wouldn't stop but we had to. Not only were we tired from the unexpected dancing, we were nearly suffocated from the smoke in the place. March 1st will not get here soon enough.

Sunday, while at work, I got a call from K telling me to come outside. He had been gone all weekend, and I hadn't seen him since Tuesday the week before. I look around the corner and he was walking down the street with roses in his hand. Before this I had been one of those people who believed roses are totally overdone and cliche...but now I'm thinking it's because I had never been given them before. They are so beautiful. And yay for him for not choosing boring roses, but he bought the variagated ones that have deep pink interlaced in the red. Now, I'm not saying I'd choose them on a regular basis. But out of the blue, I'll take roses any day.

Oh, I finally got a call from the insurance company of the guy who hit me and they're going to pay for everything...including a deep-tissue massage for my back that is still in pain. The best part is they're sending me a check for the damage. Not the auto-shop, but ME. I can live with my console sticking out, right? Hey, my stereo is that much closer to me. I'm sure with a little force I can stick it back in. I'll just wait until I'm nice and angry about something, like my windshield wipers, and I'll be able to push it in with my pinky finger.

Thursday, January 27

This morning, after waking up late, yet again, I had to run out and start my car in order to get the fresh layer of snow and ice that we got for the twelve-hundredth day in a row off of my windshield so little energy would be expensed scraping. When it came time to leave 15 minutes later, I still had some scraping to do, but luckily it came off like butter. I started to drive away when I tested my wipers. Nothing. Not even an attempt. I got out to make sure all the ice was off of the base, got back in and tried again. Nothing. I get out again (mind you, with windchill, it's -3 degrees out) to attempt to get even more ice out from under the blades, and I actually starting pounding with all of my might with my ice scraper, chipping away as if I were trying to escape from being trapped under it and that one little chip will give me my next breath necessarily for survival. Get back in...Nothing. I then do the next logical thing and start screaming and swearing at the top of my lungs to the air in my car, I pound on the steering wheel for that added effect. I figured out I had left my wipers on when I shut my car off, and while the car was warming up, the little motor was trying it's damndest to pry through the ice that had the wipers pinned. And if you are like my friend in Australia who had no clue what this would lead to because he's never had to deal with this shit...it leads to a broken wiper motor.

Normally, I would not have gotten so upset over such a little thing. But what with the snow as of late, the accident, my bumper falling off, the snow, my console all sticking out, the snow, the fact that I had an hour commute ahead of me, and the FUCKING SNOW THAT WON'T QUIT, I decided it was time to lose it. So right there in front of my little house in my little town before 8 a.m., I had a mini-breakdown. Only it continued in the form of crying the entire drive (that without traffic takes 20 minutes) to work. I was embarrassed I was going to be late again for the 3rd time in a row this week, and there was nothing I could do about it.

(Well, ok, I could've left earlier. I could have not broken down in a rage in the middle of the road. I could have actually gotten out of my bed at a normal time. But I like to think of those things as out of my control.)

Just now I decided to see if I could find out how much it would cost to replace it, and I found out it would be 75 dollars for a new one. Ouch.

Wednesday, January 26

I keep telling myself to post an entry. It seems my last week was a bit of a whirlwind...of white snow. Part of the reason why I haven't written is a rather silly one. See, I'm dying for a computer of my own at home. When I think about sitting here at my desk, at work, writing in my blog, the appeal is not there as much as it is when I think about sitting on my couch with wine in my hand, laptop on my lap and fire roaring. That is appealing. Alas, I sit here at my desk at work writing. The laptop didn't appear...luckily, however, the wine and fire did. Small steps.

Last week I got into a car accident. I was rearended by someone who was hit from behind. Fortunately, I am ok despite some awful back and neck pain, and my car has minimal damage. The man who hit us was left with a totalled car. This was really my first accident I've been in while driving and not having been the one who rearended. Even better, this time there wasn't even anyone in front of me because I was just minding my own business, DRIVING ON THE HIGHWAY. It just goes to prove how idiotic this state's roads are, as well as their drivers. This is a part of the highway that I travel everyday where two highways merge and you have to go all the way from the right lane (if you stay straight, you exit in about 10 feet) to the left lane, to then merge with traffic coming from yet a third highway merging from the left. I know I can't explain it well, but I do not understand the minds of the engineers who came up with this. Anyway, that was how my week last week started. I could barely move for days, even now, a week later, I'm still in pain and my bumper is about to fall off.

This past weekend we were hit with "The Worst Snowstorm Since the Blizzard of '78." And we were reminded of this about every 10 seconds if you had the tv on at any point during the 36-hour storm. I was in my house from Saturday around 4 until Tuesday morning at 7:45. That's a very long time to be couped up. Luckily, there were two football games on Sunday to amuse me, including the AFC Championship where the Patriots got their chance to head to the Super Bowl again. Also, in my stir-crazied-ness, I allowed myself to think way too much about my new "relationship" with K. In my thinking, I not only kind of freaked out and had convinced myself that there was no way he still wanted to be with me, I realized I obsess WAY TOO MUCH. STOP OBSESSING ALREADY! you hear me? STOP! I don't know what my deal is, really. I wish I could explain it, but I'd probably sound all obssessive and stuff.

Or boring. I realize this post was a complete rant of nothingness. If I had been sipping on wine right now, sitting by my fire, comfy on my couch...it would've been worthy of a Pulitzer prize.

Thursday, January 20

For the last, oh, 20 minutes, I've been slowly munching on a bag of Soy Crisps at my desk. I'm getting down to the end of the bag where I have to stick my whole hand down to the bottom and actually look in to make sure I got every last bit of salty-goodness from the silver crinkly bag. While looking down into the bag, I happen to look at my black shirt and I noticed that in my devouring of said bag, I had managed to cover myself entirely with crumbs. Also in the 15 minutes it took me to eat the Soy Crisps, I spoke with 2 med students, 4 respected Deans and my supervisor.

Monday, January 17

Last night I went to Northampton to see Ray LaMontange play at the Iron Horse. The New England shows have been sold out for weeks now, I was so disappointed I couldn't get tickets to see him. I mostly wanted to see him in Maine, considering that was where he began and was discovered. There were no tickets for either of this three shows. As a final hope, I went to the website of the radio station that I first heard Trouble, thinking there might be a giveaway or contest that I would have a 1 in 1,000 chance of winning. There was no contest, but there was an online ticket swap and there happen to be a girl giving away two tickets to Northampton. Being the day before the weekend, I thought I'd be lucky to get these. But it worked out, I was going to go see Ray LaMontagne, my new kind of lover.

And he did not disappoint. Ray was better than he sounded on his album; his words sucked me in, his raspy voice left me breathless. I enjoyed this show more than I could express to you, Ray LaMontagne is a rare talent. He played Hannah and I thought this was a reason to be alive, it was that beautiful. Part of his appeal is he just woke up one morning and decided he wanted to learn how to play the guitar and sing, and he not only did it, but become incredible at it. What makes him rare is that he was inspired by a song, not inspired by fame and screaming fans. On stage he was nervous and sweet, attempting humor that I found surprising. The nervous stroking of his hair above his left eye did not distract, but only added more human appeal to the musical lover that I've conjuured him to be. I spoke to him after, to thank him for such a great show. With his hair-stroking and quiet thank you, I tried to come up with something profound to say, to let him know how much he has effected me. I'm not sure what I said, but I remember him so clearly saying, "Your boyfriend looks uncomfortable." And if that wasn't enough, I had to say, "Pardon?" He repeated it and went to shake my hand goodbye and said "Nice to meet you." I said the same and walked back to K, who had been standing directly behind me while I spoke to him.

It took me a minute to realize what had just happened. I'm hoping it was the whole situation he wasn't used to yet, not that he thought I was hitting on him or something. It was strange indeed. I'm pretty sure he wasn't prepared for this. He just wanted to play music.

Seriously, if you have not heard him play yet, please do. It was an incredible night. I think it may have made my year..and it's only January.

Friday, January 14

I apologize ahead of time for my morbid tone today, on a Friday no doubt. However, I want/need to get my thoughts out of my head.

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I have always been drawn to the sea, growing up in a coastal Maine town allowed me that luxury. I consider myself to have seawater for blood. If I had wanted to escape the angst that was high school, I would drive to the point and sit on the rocks for hours watching the waves as they crashed, pondering my ever-so-dramatic social life. I found solace on those rocks, with each wave I felt more strength to deal with the pubescent assholes I was surrounded by. The ocean not only provided inspiration, it scared the crap out of me. Something with that much power should never be trusted; it's tempermental, bitchy, and full of shit. Maybe that's why I was so drawn to it, we were so similar. When I went to school in the mountains of North Carolina, I always felt like a part of me was missing. Although the mountains are just as powerful, I would watch for hours and they won't move. (Go figure.) I missed the ocean more than I cared to admit to myself. The mountains were a welcomed temporary replacement, but they would never take up permanent residency, and neither would I.

I read this morning in the NYTimes of the village Calang, Indonesia, that before December 26 comprised of 7,000 residents. The town was not just destroyed by the tsunami, it vanished and was replaced by concrete slabs. So far, they've only found 323 bodies with no signs of the over-5,000 missing. The sea came and took them, kidnapped them blindly from their home and destroyed what was left of it, killing them with it's monstrous hands in the form of a wave.

I feel helpless. We are so far removed from this disaster that we can only view the images, and mourn with a few moments out of our day. It doesn't leave our thoughts; we can donate our money, but it still doesn't seem like enough. I want to be there to help clean-up, rebuild; supply some kind of hope for the survivors, if there can even be some. I've been overcome with guilt for having my life left physically untouched from this disaster. Although the ocean constantly takes lives single-handedly, it hasn't done so to this capacity with billions to witness. Now it's scaring me on an entirely different level. The distrust I had for it before has been proven truthful and I'm having a difficult time finding the optimism I usually have.

Wednesday, January 12

If any of you have actually spoken to me within the last year, you're aware of the fact that I am obsessed with wanting my own computer at home. I am of course being a snob about it, too. I won't settle for just a normal PC. NO...I need a Mac.

Tuesday, January 11

I got a little crazy this weekend, folks. And by crazy I mean bottles of wine, live music, strip clubs, copious amounts of whiskey, and lap dances. Yes, lap dances. Normally when I get crazy, it was premeditated. Not this weekend. The craziness just fell upon me and I'm still recovering.

Friday night I had dinner with K, a friend of his, and his girlfriend, where we just happened to drink about one normal bottle of wine and one of those oversized bottles of wine. The wine had quite the effect on his friend and friend's girlfriend. Towards the end of the dinner he started telling us this story, in great detail, about his girlfriend's friend who hit on him the night before in front of her boyfriend. And by hitting on him I mean, went up to him, put her hand on his dick and said something about what she'd like to do with it. He told this story loud, with lots of loud laughing, and we were in a sushi restaurant very close to the surrounding tables and customers. I look over and these two girls who are those type that try so hard to go against the fashion trends that they dress in the most unusual clothes and end up just looking ridiculous, are looking over at us with the evil eyes like we're the lame ones. After sushi and wine, we headed to see my friend's band play and it was by far the best show I had seen them play, so I was entirely happy despite the 2 hours it took to get a drink (yes, of course we needed more!).

So you're wondering about the strip club, aren't you? Dammit Sami, you'd be proud. My favorite people here, M and T, had a couple of friends in town from Maine, so K and I were planning on meeting them at their house for a fun-filled evening of board games. Ah, the excitement. So before leaving my house I put on the most hideous (yet comfortable) outfit I possibly could've put on, simply because we were staying in. I get to their house and plans had changed: we were going to go to a strip club. First, we'd try the free ones, and if those were lame we'd pay the 15 bucks for "quality." Luckily, my friend T offered to lend me some clothes as I might have been turned away with the outfit I had on for boardgame-fun. We head to the free club first. It was a new one that had just opened up. When we walk in, there is no one. NO ONE. The strippers are sitting around, waiting for their turn to get on stage. We look around and there was porn on the television screens. Two different porns, each with it's own tv above the bar. And golf. Golf was on the third. Strange, no? At one point M was attempting to have a perfectly civilized conversation with me when he burst out laughing because he could no longer contain the fact that there was a porn directly to the left of my head. So, we opted to pay the 15 bucks for the more frequented and classier strip club.

We pull up and it's like going to Disney World after the last one (haha, Strippers at Disney. Could you imagine naked women getting down and dirty with Goofy or Mickey?). We get inside and it's packed (a good sign in strip-club-world). You instantly notice the regulars. The men in there by themselves, looking as if they're at home watching a football game, only with a bit more glossiness to their eyes. Luckily we find a corner of the stage that we manage to inhabit the entire night. K and I are feeling a bit awkward since we hadn't quite been drinking enough to be comfortable staring at stranger's tits yet. Enter the whiskey and things get a bit more interesting. I soon have the tits being slapped in my face and lap dances bought for me. You should have seen me, too. Although not quite hideous anymore, I looked so goddam innocent it even made me want to puke. Needless to say, the innocence had quite the effect on the strippers. I think they were all determined to embarrass the hell out of me and every one of them seemed to up their act when coming towards me. Hours later we emerge feeling as if we were used, but coincidently ok with it. We had been felt-up, danced over, knocked around by unusually soft tits, and our wallets sucked-dry without us even noticing..and all in the matter of a couple of hours.

Monday, January 10

Every year acceptance has become more of a essential skill in my life. Acceptance for many things; but above all, acceptance in the shifting of friendships you once found to be almost closer to you than your own inner dialogue. This has been the single most difficult aspect of my post-college years. Moving from the life I had known for so many years to move back to the world I grew up in forced me to be more creative in keeping those physical ties active. I no longer had my friends within minutes away, some seconds away, some hours away. We learn to continue the friendship by only voice, and more often than not, this proves successful. I have dear friends, friends that a girl like me couldn't be happier to have in my life. I have been blessed; not a moment goes by that I am not aware of this and embrace it whole-heartedly. Yet, along with this embrace, comes the acceptance that it may not be like that forever. Friendships that once existed as a foundation for my life at the time, slowly take on a different form. The phone calls become fewer and fewer; the existance in one another's life becomes less and less pronounced with every day that passes without words exchanged. At first, you acknowledge the fact that you simply don't have time, that you will soon catch up. But then more and more time passes, time that it would take forever to catch up on. You start attempting to get in contact, knowing this is just a circumstantial issue that can be remedied by the opportunity to converse. Only the opportunities stop presenting themselves, lives head in separate directions and each half of the equation becomes less and less a necessity for the other. Someone you once relied on as your supplemental thought process when yours wasn't working correctly, is no longer there. The first act of acceptance in this is realizing it has nothing to do with either party. No blame can be placed; no one is at fault. You've found other supplements for that crutch you once needed; not replacements, but supplements. When I was younger I would try everything possible to not lose a friendship I had shared. In fact, up until a few years ago I was still struggling to keep friendships afloat when there was nothing except my attempted phone calls, emails, letters, keeping them tied. There are those friendships that exist simply because of time. Time based on the years of active friendship, most often a childhood friend that does not require constant interaction. Months, someimes years, will go by without a word, but somehow you pick up right where you left off. The friendships that require acceptance when fading, have time working against them. You can not help but feel sad for the loss. But the saddness comes from thinking something went wrong, that something could have prevented it. This is where you learn that it is just time that has passed. Not only the friend has changed, but you are no longer the same person you were when the friendship was at it's strongest. You slowly start to accept that this is ok. You learn that not accepting it is not allowing you to completely be thankful for what you shared. Although it's not easy, and you can't help but mourn the loss, but you accept that It's ok to have friendships slowly dissolve. The acceptance is easier when you realize that it might not be permanent. It doesn't have to be. If it ends up as such, you can take solace in knowing just how lucky you were to have had that friendship when you most needed it, and you wouldn't trade that for the world. I believe that certain friendships, even if they disappear, may come back when you need them the most. That the time that was lost is no longer apparent, the fact you know nothing of one another's lives, no longer matters. You feel the part of you that was missing come back. Although you are happy to be whole again, you were ok with it being gone, and fortunately cannot help but feel blessed it has come back into your life again when you needed it.

This is what I have been struggling with, but finally feel with a little practice, I'm figuring it out. It hasn't been easy, though. I think overall I've just gotten better at talking myself out of feeling a certain way. The stubbornness I used to experience when part of me was tackling another more realistic part, has dissipated some.

Wednesday, January 5

Instead of the year-end or year-beginning post that seems apparently required of the blogger these days that I am refusing to do, and especially because of tragedy across seas, as well as the complete feeling of hopelessness that I have been overcome with, I feel the need to be extra thankful for the things that make me smile in my life. I'm hoping, that as a result of the tsunami (I almost feel like something that powerful and catastrophic should be a proper noun) and the war in Iraq, that people are becoming more aware of how fortunate they are to be alive.

So, in place of a list of events of 2004, or resolutions for 2005, here is a list of things that will make me smile no matter what year it is:

1. the morning light in my kitchen as I make my coffee
2. the way Took hops on his hind legs when he's about to be fed
3. my new nephew's red hair, little feet, and chubby cheeks
4. having my best friend in the form of my sister living across the street
5. watching my sister become a mother for the first time
6. cooking
7. my morning chats with my friend T when I should be doing work
8. knowing I have amazing, smart, funny, beautiful, kind, wonderful friends in my life...I am so lucky
9. being blessed with the family I have
10. yummy food, and someone to share it with
11. good conversation with someone you admire and happen to find incredibly sexy at the same time
12. finding someone you can't get enough of
13. a good book, a fire, and a glass of wine
14. watching the snow fall while snuggling under a blanket
15. beautiful jewelry
16. napping on a snowy day
17. music in any form (except in the form of Phil Collins)
18. breakfast, anytime of the day
19. when people around me are so happy, they glow
20. my friends and family finding something they love in life and going for it
21. friends that will travel over a thousand miles to see me for just a day
22. being touched by a stranger through their writing
23. when Took rests his head by me in the morning waiting for me to scratch his belly
24. Sundays
25. and so much more...

Life is good, Internet. It may be masked by death and destruction that seems out of our control; but under that all, we are lucky to have been given breath. A year ago, I may not have been able to believe this. And for that, I am thankful.

Tuesday, January 4

I've been a slacker, I know. All 3 people that read my blog have told me so. I apologize, 3 devotees. I'm back.

Over the past two weeks I've had ample time to spend with my new "friend," which translates roughly to, "more time to freak-out and overthink every single possible thing." I'm a nut. When I have something amazing and wondering and exciting, I tend to feel my insides slightly beginning to bubble. Even if I realize it, if I know this is what I've always wanted for myself, I'm quickly reminded of all the dreadful relationships in the past. I can't stop comparing. He's winning out by far in the comparisons, and yet I'm still over-analyzing and thinking it can't be real. Then soon I will start to feel the suffocation, that I'll be faced with the constants thoughts of whether or not I should stick it out when there's a chance it won't be the real deal. I start justifying everything, even when there's no need. I can shift blame to the guy, I've spent my entire life doing that. But I think I'm beginning to realize that it is me. I have issues. Blech.

Then he does things like sticking his arm down my toilet trying to fix it without me even asking. And not in the back, but down the bowl. (The funny part of that is I actually found him sexy while being engulfed by my toilet water.) This is when I don't ever want to let him go. I start to figure out ways to keep him around. Not because I need someone to fix my toilet because I'm a helpless and can't do it for myself, but because I realize just how lucky I am to have found someone who will do that for you without even thinking. (Although, I think he did it more for himself. He actually felt defeated when he couldn't fix it. And for the record, even though I think of myself as a strong independent woman, sticking my arm down my toilet is most likely something I would not do. Would you?)

We drove to Connecticut for the day over the Holidays and actually had conversations the entire time in the car. Did you know you were supposed to talk in a relationship? I didn't. My last one we were silent for hours in the car. I could actually hear my insides crawling with every second that passed without a word. When we did speak, it was painful. We had nothing in common. (Why oh WHY was I with him for 7 MONTHS?!) I love to talk. I'm the happiest when I'm talking and even happier when I'm listening to someone else talk. When we talk, I don't want to stop. With every idea, every thought he shares, I want more of him. The critical voices get silenced, even if for a moment. I know eventually they will stop all together. That's when I will know it's real. The more time I spend with him, the less and less profound they are.

I wonder if this is how it's supposed to be. Maybe it's how it's supposed to be for me. Instead of saying I just knew he was the one when he did that or said this, I will say, "I knew he was the one when the criticism stopped and I started enjoying." Whether it's this guy or a next one, that might just be my way of finding out. I'll take the challenge. Bring it on.